She liked the kid. “I broke my arm when I was twelve. My best friend, Vincent, dared me to ride my bike down ten concrete stairs at the library. Made it almost to the bottom, but the front wheel twisted, and I went flying. Broke my arm at the elbow.” Damn thing still hurt when it rained.
“You rode a bike down the library stairs?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it, but yeah, I did. I’m not a person to dare. How did you break your arm?”
“I was living with my mom in Denver. I was walking to the corner store to get her some ginger ale and was hit by a car.”
“Damn. That had to hurt.” Joan intentionally kept her tone calm, just like she did when she rolled up on a crime scene with a hysterical witness or traumatized victim.
“It didn’t hurt too bad at first. But it did later in the ambulance.” He again rotated his arm in a full circle. “But it’s fine now.”
“Impressive.” She thought about Gideon getting that kind of phone call. It was at least a thirteen-hour drive between Missoula and Denver. “I bet your dad drove all night after he heard.”
Kyle’s gaze widened with hints of surprise. “Yeah, how did you know?”
“I know your dad. He’s like that.” She was curious about Helen, the woman who had toyed with Gideon’s heart after Joan had split town ten years ago. But grilling the kid about his mother was a pettiness she would not indulge.
“You don’t sound like you’re from here,” Kyle said.
“You know I’m from Philadelphia.”
“Why are you looking at case files in this office?”
She closed the folder filled with graphic color images. “I went to college here. Before you were born.”
The boy, now looking curious about the file, tried to read the tab. “What was the case?” he asked.
The kid did not appear to be a fan of sugarcoating the truth, but he was still a kid. “There was a fire.”
“Did anyone die?”
“No.”
“So why do you care about it?”
“Because people shouldn’t go around burning down houses.”
“There was no arrest?” Kyle challenged.
It was her turn to smile. “You must know a lot about police procedures.”
“Some. Dad’s told me stories.”
“There was an arrest and conviction.”
“Then why do you care?”
“Good question.”
He nodded to her scarring. “What’s wrong with your hand?”
“Burn scar.” She tucked her hand under the table.
“From that fire?”
The boy was quick. “Yes.”
“There was a fire in town on Saturday,” he said.
“I know.”
“Are you working that case with Dad?”
“Yes. Kind of. Not exactly.”
“What’s that mean?” He offered her another cracker, but she declined.
“Your dad is letting me nose around.”
“He doesn’t need your help,” Kyle said.
“He doesn’t really need me at all.” The truth surprised her with a sting.
Quick, determined footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Gideon appeared in the doorway. “Kyle. Why didn’t you come by my office?”
“I didn’t want to sit there alone. I got a snack and came in here when I saw Joan. We had breakfast together yesterday at Aunt Ann’s house.”
Gideon lifted his gaze quickly to Joan, as if searching for a sign that she might harbor any resentment toward the boy in any way. Whatever he saw must have calmed him, because he shifted back to Kyle. “Ready to go to the doctor?”
“Yeah. But for the record, I don’t need a doctor,” Kyle said.
“Once you get your medical degree, I’ll stop bugging you about it,” Gideon said.
Kyle gathered up his backpack. “Good to see you, Joan. You going to be at Ann’s tonight?”
“I’ll be there.” She pointed her index finger at him. “Show your dad how flexible your arm is.”
Kyle rolled his shoulder and then his arm as if he were a major league ballplayer warming up.
“Looks good,” Gideon said. “Should be a quick visit, which will give you time to do your math homework.”
“I hate math,” Kyle said.
“Fractions are his nemesis,” Gideon said as he laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He’s not a fan.”
Kyle shrugged. “What’s the point? Isn’t that what a phone calculator is for?”
“Just between you and me, Kyle,” Joan said, “I’m a calculator kind of girl.”
“Don’t be fooled, Kyle. Joan had a straight-A average in college.”
“Is she like Nate?” he asked.
“No. Not quite like Nate, but she’s got game.”
The offhanded compliment felt surprisingly nice. “Don’t make me blush.”
Kyle laughed. “See you around, Joan.”
“You too, Kyle.”
Gideon’s expression teetered somewhere between confusion and relief when he and his son left. The room grew heavy with a silence broken only by the gurgle of the coffee maker. She looked at the closed file, her interest in the past waning. Still, she opened the next folder. She found the images that the investigating officer had discovered in Elijah’s dorm room. Judging by the location and her outfit, they’d been taken in the late fall of her senior year. She had been at a local bar watching the rodeo on television. She remembered the night and knew Gideon and Ann had been present. Funny, she had no memory of Elijah at the bar. She snapped photos of each with her phone.
She continued to sift through the pictures. Her interest was piqued when the shots shifted from the house to the crowds.
She knew arsonists liked to see their work. It was common to find them lurking among the crowds, watching the flames devour their target. She studied the faces, recognizing a couple of old neighbors and former classmates. Then she spotted Elijah standing behind Clarke and Gideon. Gideon’s expression was pained, and his clothes and hands, like Clarke’s, were covered in dark soot. She had no memory from the moment she passed out to the instant she woke up coughing in the ambulance. Her memories rested on vague impressions and some sounds.
Joan sank deep into herself and floated in a pool of cool water. She was at peace. Not afraid. Not worried. This sense of well-being suited her, and she wanted to remain exactly wherever this was.
Hot, grimy hands cupped her face and forced her
